


A Lesson In Puppy Love

by dogbite_propaganda



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Denial of Feelings, Hand Jobs, Homophobic Language, Improper Anatomy Of A Race Car, Light Angst, M/M, Not Beta Read, Oral Sex, Pining, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 10:30:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20356999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogbite_propaganda/pseuds/dogbite_propaganda
Summary: Brock brings a young piece of ass to chase onto the Strike Team. And he absolutely does not fall head over heels for the kid.





	A Lesson In Puppy Love

Many perks came alongside the title of STRIKE Team Alpha Commander. He got paid better, for one. He was able to dictate which missions he did and didn’t want to do, often pushing the undesirable ones off onto teams Charlie and Bravo. And best of all, he got to pick all of his team members. Usually, Brock looked for grizzled men with three or four long tours under their belts, men who knew what war looked like and wanted to take it with them everywhere they went. People knew what to expect when Brock went hunting for a new addition to his team, the members on it included. 

So when Brock walked into the locker room with a twenty three year old at his side, the STRIKE team was shocked to say the very least. They would have their whispers, their conspiracies on why Brock had chosen such a fresh catch— most of which would be true— but they would never question their commander. There was a very simple reason that Brock had chosen Jack Rollins over the rest of the men he’d been given the opportunity to take in. 

He wanted to fuck him. 

Jack was young, unmarred, and most of all, he was soft. Brock liked it. While looking at those recruited as potential STRIKE team members, he couldn’t keep himself from imagining the feel of Jack under his hands. It was scandalous and recruiting him had been impulse more than anything else. But after a few days, he still wasn’t regretting his decision. This was attributed to the fact that Hydra offered Jack to him as a recruit for a reason. Jack was an active duty Marine, had been since he was eighteen years old. He had a keen eye which made him an excellent sniper. He was a trained demolitions expert, could make a bomb in minutes and take one apart even faster. Most importantly, he followed orders to a T. No disciplinary actions on his record, no problems cooperating with other team members, hell, he hadn’t even heard about an eye roll from the kid. Cooperation was very attractive to him by that point. Brock had decided two years prior that he was too old to chase tail like some horny college kid, so he stopped. He had a few flings here and there, some girls with daddy issues, some twinks going through a rebellious phase, nothing fun or new. Jack was different though.

From what Hydra’s background check entailed, he grew up in a nice middle-class neighborhood with his father and two older brothers, he went to private school until high school, graduated with a 4.0 GPA, and got offered a full ride scholarship but chose to go into the military the minute he turned eighteen. Jack had been on three tours in his time; a six month one, an eight month one, and a two year one. And then Hydra picked him up. He was just a recruit doing low level things; he didn’t know what was going on. Not yet anyways. But when Brock first laid eyes on him, he knew that there was nothing on the face of the planet that would keep him from getting his hands on Jack Rollins. 

It would take time, Brock knew this. He waited things out, tested the waters for a while. Jack had been on three missions with the STRIKE team before Brock made his first big move. But in the two months Jack has been on the team, Brock had been slowly familiarizing the rookie to his touch. He’d lay a hand on the side of Jack’s neck when they greeted each other, lean over Jack’s shoulder and let his chest press against the rookie’s back, and when he felt bold, he’d wrap his arm around Jack’s shoulders while they were traipsing through the halls of SHIELD headquarters. Because everyone needed to know who Jack belonged to, even if he didn’t know just yet. 

And finally, everything came to a head and Brock decided it was time for his quiet training to start paying off. It was late, the rest of the team had gotten out of their tact gear and started their journey back home rather quickly. Five day missions were never fun; cramped up in disgusting safehouses and having to deal with Keller’s shitty cooking for days on end. The safehouses had varying levels of quality but for the most part they were awful, dilapidated buildings that even someone on the streets would turn their nose up at. The houses leaked, almost never had heating or cooling systems of any kind, the beds were mostly mattresses on the floor that the team could only hope weren’t infested with something, and worst of all were the bathrooms. They were filthy, like run-down gas station levels of filthy. Brock almost always resorted to pissing outside, worried he’d catch something if he even stepped into one of those nauseating lavratories. 

Five days of  _ that _ naturally had the entire STRIKE team running back to the safety and comfort of their own beds. So imagine Brock’s surprise when Jack was still out in the parking lot at two in the morning, long after everyone else had gone. Brock tried to get a mission report outline finished before he went home no matter how late it was when the team returned to home base but on missions as long as their latest one, it would take a little more time. After two hours of staring at his computer screen and reading the same line over and over again, he decided to call it a night. He could come back in the next morning and finish things up. But when he’d made it outside, it wasn’t as vacant as he would expect seeing as there was still a little black race car sitting there with a very tired Jack working under her hood. 

“Car troubles, Rollins?” Brock called? He’d seen the car before, rather amused with the story behind it. How a sixteen year old Rollins wanted so badly to race cars, how his grandfather had been letting Jack pay off the old racing porsche until he passed away and left it to Jack in his will anyways, how he’d been too scared to actually race it at first because he didn’t want anything to happen to it. And eventually, how Jack had decided that racing wasn’t going to be a viable career for him and joined the military instead.

Jack shot up so quickly at the sound of Brock’s voice that he smacked his head on the hood of his car, leaning over the engine and cursing to himself as he backed away and glanced up to his commanding officer. 

“Uhm, yeah.” He muttered, tilting his head slightly when he completed his brief statement in such a subtle way that Brock absolutely should  _ not _ have noticed.  _ ‘Soft spoken as always,’ _ Brock’s thoughts sang to him as he approached to lean against the side of the car, all the while feigning interest in whatever problem there was. “I think the battery’s dead.” 

Perking up at this, Brock decided that now was the time to seize the opportunity. Advancing on Jack, he offered a friendly hand on his shoulder and laughed in a light-hearted manner. 

“That’s no big deal, I got some cables back at mine. You can stay over tonight and we can jump her in the morning. I gotta be back here anyways.” Brock offered, watching as Jack stared at him with naive trust in his gaze. But when he looked back at the car he shook his head again and Brock had to keep himself from making an almost disappointed noise. 

“I can’t leave it here.” He said quietly, staring at the car before him like it was his own child. Brock knew that he was sentimental over the damn thing, that he was afraid something might happen to it while he was away. But he wouldn’t let this old hunk of metal stand in his way of having a good time that night. 

“It’s only a few hours, Jack, c’mon. I know you’re tired, let’s just go get some rest, yeah?” Brock said in the gentle tone he always used when he wanted something. As he spoke, he wrapped an unimposing arm around Jack to guide him toward the only other car in the parking lot. Jack seemed reluctant at first but eventually nodded his compliance and Brock grinned in that way he did when he was getting exactly what he wanted. Eventually, Jack would start to pick up on things like that, but for now it was easy pickings as he cooed softly into the rookie’s ear. “Yeah, you’re tired, I can tell.” 

Brock’s car was closer to the building, another perk of being a commander. Something small but appreciated nonetheless. His own car was a more updated camaro, something he’d fought internally with when he’d paid for the damn thing because dear  _ God _ was it a lot of money to spend on a car but now that he had it, he couldn’t say he was unsatisfied. 

Once Jack was in the passenger seat, Brock settled down on the drivers side and pulled out of the place. The radio droned quietly, hardly audible over the idle of the engine. Jack was quiet for the most part, staring out the window as the buildings passed by. It was almost ethereal, how peaceful he looked, and Brock wondered for a brief moment how he’d gotten so lucky. He shook this idea out of his head immediately as it registered, of course. This was a quick fuck, not a marriage proposal. So why did he feel so content? Just being in the same space as Jack made him feel oddly calm and as much as he knew he shouldn’t, he welcomed the feeling. 

“Three tours, huh?” He asked quietly and Jack nodded before seemingly realizing his superior was speaking to him and straightening up with a respectful  _ ‘yes sir.’ _

“It’s after hours, Jack. Just call me Brock.” He said, unable to keep himself from releasing a small laugh. “What were they like?” 

For a few minutes, Jack was silent just as he had been the rest of the drive. But this silence was something darker, heavily contrasting with the peaceful air of before. Before Brock was really able to panic and wonder if he’d just made a fatal mistake, Jack spoke up. 

“To be honest,” he began with a sigh, “They were really scary. I never knew people lived like that, never seen someone starve to death before. We weren’t supposed to interact with the civilians but sometimes it was so hard not to. I wanted to help them but my commanders always told me there was nothing I could do.”

Now, Brock was used to his teammates being unfiltered around him, but that tended to lead to more raunchy, swear-riddled speak, not an open heart to heart about how terrifying war zones were. Empathy wasn’t a common trait with STRIKE team members, most of them had lost all traces of it years before Brock had gotten his hands on them. But Jack was still young, his heart still bled for the pain of others, and something about that made Brock want to hide him away from all of the harsh realities in the world. It was just too bad that Jack had already seen them. 

“I know what you mean, kiddo.” Brock sighed, refocusing his attention on the road before them, absentmindedly reaching over to lay a hand on Jack’s thigh. And after almost two months of near constant casual physical interaction, Jack didn’t even seem to notice it. 

The place Brock stayed at was modest. It was a quiet little townhouse that he was renting from an old boat salesman that lived a few miles down the road who was more than happy when Brock inquired on the place. His apartment had been feeling too cramped anyway, plus the price he was paying was pretty good considering how nice of a neighborhood it was in. Jack seemed to be curious of it and when Brock opened the door, he was quick to peak inside. 

“Hey, I almost forgot to tell ya about the-“ His sentence came out too late seeing as before he could even finish it, Jack had already been tackled to the ground. Brock only sighed. “Dog.”

Most people would be pretty angry if they were pounced on by an eighty pound dog, but the longer Brock knew him, the more Jack proved that he wasn’t like most people. Instead he stared in awe, slowly pushing himself up as he scratched up and down the dog’s neck, laughing when he was met with a sloppy, wet tongue. 

“I’m sorry about him,” Brock sighed, grabbing the dog by the collar as he pulled the massive creature toward the house. “Bones, c’mon pal, inside.”

“You’re fine,” Jack chuckled, taking Brock’s extended hand and getting back up to his feet. “I always wanted a dog. Couldn’t have one ‘cuz dad was allergic.”

The little embarrassed smile that crossed Jack’s face was something else and oh boy if Brock couldn’t stare at him forever. What business did Jack have being so damn pretty? In a moment of weakness, Brock almost asked him, but refrained for his own sanity.  _ ‘A quick fuck, Rumlow, that’s all.’ _ He tried to remind himself in his head as he herded Jack into the house. 

“I didn’t originally plan to get him but an old buddy of mine couldn’t keep hold of him anymore and, well, ya know. Dogs like him get put down at shelters.” Brock sighed. He never liked admitting his weaknesses but considering that Jack seemed well on his way to becoming one of them, Brock decided he could let it slide. 

“I bet,” Jack said quietly, leaning down to scratch behind both of Bones’ ears. “What is he? Doberman?”

“Beauceron.” Brock corrected. There was once a time where people who constantly corrected everyone on their dog’s breed annoyed him. That changed when he got a dog of his own, though, and he’d started understanding how annoying it was. Jack didn’t seem to mind, however, somehow more interested in the canine after hearing. 

“Never heard of them, he’s pretty.” 

_ So are you.  _ Brock had wanted to say. He wanted to say it so badly, wrap Jack up in his arms and tell him how gorgeous he was. There were a lot of things Brock wanted to tell Jack. Like how he’d never been attracted to taller men before. Like how he’d never been so impressed with someone so young before. Like how the stars seem brighter, the days more exciting, and the rain less depressing since Jack came along. Instead of doing that, Brock pushed those thoughts away. He was sure his loneliness was getting the better of him again, convincing his mind that Jack was the best thing since sliced bread just because he was finally showing another person a bit of his attention. It would all go away after that night. 

“I got some clothes you can sleep in, if ya want. I know I wouldn’t sleep in jeans if I didn't hafta’.” Brock offered and Jack looked at him before looking down at his own body and back at Brock again. The size difference between them was certainly… notable. But lucky for a Jack, Brock had prepared for such an occasion. “Don’t worry about it big guy, I gotcha handled. C’mon.”

Leading Jack into his bedroom, Brock pulled the pair of sweatpants he’d bought just for Jack out of his dresser drawer. Of course, he didn’t want it to seem like he’d been planning this entire interaction. Worn them a few times, put them through the wash to make sure they felt used. He had a hoodie in the closet he’d done the same with, all for Jack. That level of meticulous strategizing just for a one night stand may have been a bit excessive but, Brock tried not to think of it too much. It was all just a ploy to get Jack out of his clothes anyway, so it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that Brock had put that hoodie on under the excuse that he needed to make it feel ‘lived in’ when he was frustrated and wondered how it would smell if Jack was the one wearing it regularly. It didn’t matter that Brock wondered how Jack smelled at all. And it definitely didn’t matter that he wondered if Jack would like smelling Brock on the hoodie. None of it mattered. 

“Hope these are okay,” he offered as if he hadn’t paid extra special attention to the forms Jack had filled out for his assigned tactical gear. Jack took them with a nod and a quiet  _ thank you _ before he turned to look over his shoulder toward the bedroom door. 

“Where’s your bathroom?” He asked in a mumble and the corner of Brock’s mouth twitched upward in anticipation. 

“You’re kiddin’, right?” He asked, watching as Jack’s face tinged red, the hue traveling down his neck. His shirt got in the way of seeing any further down but Brock was almost entirely sure that it encompassed his chest as well. What a sight that would be. “We’re teammates, Jack, just get dressed in here.”

Jack glanced up momentarily at the still switched off light, watching the ceiling fan as it spun for a spell—no doubt anticipating what was to come, which on another note was him, probably— before he nodded. Jeez, he was just making it too easy. Brock busied himself getting his own pair of clothes out just long enough to hear Jack’s jeans fall to the floor and his shirt plop beside them not long after. He turned, opening his mouth to say something before he paused. Jack was pulling the hoodie onto his arms, ready to slip it over his head but he stopped when he caught Brock’s gaze. 

Letting out a low whistle, Brock set his t-shirt down and took a few steps forward. Frozen in place, Jack only moved when Brock guided his arms out of the hoodie and tossed it onto the foot of the bed. Slowly, as if dealing with a startled lamb, Brock pressed one hand against the left side of Jack’s chest, bringing his other up to join on the opposite side. He was right. That rufescent blush _had_ spread down to Jack's chest and it certainly was a sight to see. 

“You sure are somethin’ else, aren’t ya?” Brock breathed, letting his hands slide up to Jack’s shoulders before traveling along the thick, taut muscle of his biceps. The Marines had certainly done well with bulking Jack up, making him this hulking mass of a man. At a towering six foot two, Brock couldn’t help but wonder how small Jack was before. Was he a chubby teenager? No, no that didn’t sound right. Jack seemed like the kind of kid in high school that was an absolute bean pole, scrawny as he was tall. He had to hold back a chuckle at the thought. 

Looking back up, Brock slid his hands back up and watched as Jack relaxed into the touch when Brock rubbed circles into into his neck. The muscle there was tight, knotted, and no doubt painful. So they stood there like that for a while, Brock’s calloused hands massaging the tension from Jack’s neck. But then he felt bold, then he lifted his hands to the sides of Jack’s face and guided him down, and then he pressed his lips against the soft, willing mouth that Jack offered him. Finally, the rookie gained enough confidence to place his left hand over the right side of Brock’s jaw, deepening their kiss while Brock guided him to fall back onto the plush comfort of the mattress. When he did this, Jack’s legs fell open, allowing Brock the space he needed to press their bodies together in a way that felt oddly intimate. Biting down on Jack’s lip, Brock took the chance given when Jack groaned to slide his tongue into the open space. 

The kiss they shared was anything but innocent. It couldn’t be, not with Jack sucking on his tongue and mewling into his mouth in a way that sounded prettier than a choir in church. Doing a rather good job at keeping Jack distracted with his mouth, Brock’s hands wandered, sliding down to slot into place on a narrow waist in a way that felt more natural than it should have. Lifting up his leg, Brock pressed his thigh against Jack's heat only to gain a startled yelp from the rookie who stared down at the collision with an unsure look about him. 

“We can stop,” Brock offered, sliding his right hand up to rest against Jack's ribcage, his thumb just beneath the pectoral. “Unless you don't want to, doll.” 

With this, Brock thumbed over Jack's nipple, earning himself a gasp that was so sweet in his ears that he was almost shocked his teeth didn't rot at the sound. One thing he'd learned in the past two months was that Jack was the epitome of a gentle giant, only growing aggressive when absolutely necessary. Something in the back of Brock's mind told him that Jack didn't like to fight, to hurt people. But something kept him in place, kept him from leaving. Now that he was in Hydra, more importantly on the STRIKE team, he really didn't have any other choice but to be there. Leaving wasn't an option anymore and Brock wondered if he regretted not getting out when he had the chance. If he did, Brock decided he could make it up to him. 

“Whaddya say?” Brock asked, breathing heavily against his ear. Jack only whined, high and delicate in return as he pressed his hips down to gain more friction against the imposing leg between his thighs. “I need t’ hear you say it, sweetheart.”

With this, Jack huffed out a string of quiet curses as he composed himself enough to speak again 

“Yes, shit- Rum, I need you.” He huffed, needy in Brock's ear. That was all the prompting Brock needed to undo is own jeans, sliding them down and ridding himself of his shirt in record time. They both lay there in their boxers, Jack's growing erections straining against the silk of his briefs, much more lewd and visible than Brock's own growing hardness. “Lookit you, so pretty for me.”

Slipping his hand between the waistband of Jack's briefs and the scorching skin beneath, Brock took Jack into his hand. With long, deliberate strokes, he watched Jack's body twitch beneath him in a way that he'd never seen before. His body was responsive, falling into line with Brock's movements like it was second nature. 

“So wet already,” Brock teased, pulling the material from Jack's body and tossing the garment somewhere on the floor for them to search for later. He made quick work of doing the same with his own. Daring to reach into his nightstand for the lube he kept there, he coated his fingers before sliding his hand between Jack's cheeks and toyed with him a bit, earning himself a desperate groan as Jack dropped his head again, hands weakly grasping at Brock's shoulders. “Ever done this with a guy before?” 

At this question, Jack shrugged. “Not on bottom.” 

His interest peaked, Brock decided that with this new information, he had the excuse to take his time. To indulge. So, he was slow with his movements as he rubbed circles against Jack's hole, pressing in only when Jack honest to God _ keened  _ in his ear. One finger turned to two and Brock scissored the digits inside, appreciating the hitch in Jack's breath as he did so. 

With the third finger, Jack went rigid momentarily, only calming when Brock cooed encouraging words in his ear. After a little while, Brock chanced a fourth and with that, Jack arched into his touch as a strangled cry tore it's way from his throat while he gripped Brock's arm for purchase. This was the signal he needed to know Jack was ready for him and finally, he slicked himself up before pressing his aching cock into Jack's open heat. 

Both of them hissed in unison, Jack at the stretch and Brock at the tight warmth that swallowed him whole. Burying himself to the hilt in Jack's ass, reveling in the sweet noise the rookie made when he bottomed out, Brock had to sit still for a minute. This was better than what he ever could've imagined; Jack splayed out soft and pliant for him, dark lashes wet from frustrated tears that refused to fall, ass pressed firmly against his hips. The image was almost ethereal and he wanted nothing more than to burn it into his mind, to never lose it. Brock had had his fair share of women, of course he did, he wasn't a faggot. But nothing could compare to the feel of pressing into a virgin man. Nothing but solid, wet, burning heat. And he'd been with other men before, sure, but there was something about Jack. Maybe it was because he was a solid four inches taller and Brock found gratification in the power. Maybe it was because Jack always looked so stoic on missions and Brock was finally able to break down some of that tough exterior wall. Who knew, who cared? Not Brock. He totally didn't care that Jack's hips were trembling beneath his hands,or that Jack's arms were wrapped around him and holding on for dear life, or that Jack was starting to buck his hips to take what be wanted, considering Brock had just stilled with no explanation. He didn't care and he certainly didn't find it endearing, nope. He didn't feel special being Jack's first time taking and he didn't want to do it again and again and again until his scent was embedded into Jack's skin so deeply that everyone around knew who he belonged to. 

He didn't want anyone to know at all. Which was why all the hickies he sucked into Jack's body were below the collar. Which was why he left bruises on places no one else would see.

Rolling his hips, Brock’s knees almost gave out from the whine that Jack released. He wanted to hear it again and again, until he had it memorized and it replayed in his mind more clearly than his own mother's voice. Slow and steady, Brock found his pace. It was relaxed, calm, and agonizingly restrained. Pressing Jack's hips down to keep him still, Brock picked up speed a bit and watched as Jack's head threw back in his frustration. 

“Lemme take care’a ya, Jackie boy.” Brock breathed out as he took Jack’s dick in his hand and fell into rhythm with that of his thrusts. Struggled breathes grew to be more labored as Jack’s back arched at the touch, supple chest puffed out and devastatingly gorgeous. Brock couldn't help himself when he leaned up to take Jack's nipple into his mouth. Soft and rich, a whimper fell from Jack's lips as his fingers curled into Brock's hair. He was close, Brock could feel it. Deciding to put an end to Jack's misery, he quickened his pace, twisting his hand and pressing into Jack in unison to coax sweet sounds from Jack's throat until he ultimately cried Brock's name as he spilled over into his hand. 

The tightening warmth on his dick had him making the conscious effort not to offset the fragile cadence he'd been so adamant on keeping. Jack had gone still for a minute, reveling in the aftershocks of his own orgasm as Brock continued his chase. Within another few minutes, Brock felt that tell-tale pit in his stomach and finally, with a bit of effort on Jack's part, he released inside the welcoming heat. 

Panting quietly, Brock pulled out and was ready to go grab something to clean both of them off with when he saw that Jack was hard again. All he could do was laugh and shake his head when a new idea presented itself and he lowered himself between the rookie's thighs. 

“Oh, I remember being young.” He muttered absentmindedly, almost jealous with his partner’s ability to so quickly regain hardness, before pressing his face into the mess he'd left at Jack's entrance. With his hand on his Jack's still hard cock, he pressed his tongue inside and once again managed his patient movements. 

In all the years he'd been sexually active, Brock had only ever eaten someone out twice before; the first time with his first long-term girlfriend when he was in college and the second on a drunken dare that he couldn't get one of his roommates off by doing it, which also subsequently happened in college and was the reason he and said long-term girlfriend broke up. Needless to say, it'd been awhile. He was probably Jack's age the last time he'd done so which likely meant he wasn't at peak performance but he wasn't hearing any complaints. The opposite, actually, as Jack was a whimpering mess, green eyes heavy and bleary, with a desperate pleading look about them. 

When he finally did find his release again, Jack cried out in a way that startled the both of them. They stared at each other for a moment, wide-eyed as Jack swallowed hard and sat up on his elbows. Brock made the first move, laughing as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he climbed up to kiss Jack gently. He wondered if Jack enjoyed the taste of him as much as Brock had when he'd been down there. When he'd been eating Jack out in earnest, doing his damndest to commit the noises he made to memory. Lowering himself, Brock trailed kisses down Jack's jaw before he finally laid down, blanketing Jack with his body as he drifted. 

The following morning they'd woken up late, ran late in the shower because Jack offered to suck Brock off and there was no way he could turn that down, and ended up grabbing breakfast on the way. Their teammates didn't question why they'd come in together or why Brock had that glow he usually had about him when he finally got laid because they already knew the answers to both of those questions. It was a peaceful day, the day Brock decided that there was no way he would allow Jack to be another one night stand. Not because he  _ liked _ him or anything, he was just a hot piece of ass. At least, that's what Brock told himself. 

Over the next few months, work got more bearable. He didn't dread waking up in the mornings, even if he'd just be going to do paperwork, because he was getting to see Jack. They'd settled into a routine; once or twice a week, Jack would go to Brock's place and they'd fuck. Sometimes slow and soft like the first time, the way Brock knew Jack liked it best. Sometimes they'd go faster, rougher, and even frantic. As if the end of the world was upon them and getting off was their only goal before everything went black. When Jack woke up before him, he'd make breakfast and after a while, their interactions grew into more than just mindless sex. They started eating dinner together and watching movies before they fucked. Sometimes they'd take Bones for a walk and a few times they simply fell asleep together without doing much of anything. And Brock couldn't say he minded. Things just felt  _ right  _ with Jack, he started feeling like he had something other than just Hydra to occupy his time. He has something to look forward to. Some _ one _ to look forward to. And before he even knew it, that desperate loneliness that he'd grown so accustomed to was swallowed up and Jack took its place in his heart. 

It wasn't until Jack said something that Brock really recognized what was going on. 

“I love you.” 

The words sounded unfamiliar but, somehow right when Jack said them. They'd both been laying there, quiet for a little while after they'd finished. Brock was laying on top of Jack, head resting over his chest to listen to the steady thrum of his heartbeat but those three little words had Brock sitting up and staring for a minute. Chuckling a little, he shook his head, pushing himself off of Jack to sit beside him before tugging a cigarette from the box on his nightstand and lighting it up. He took a long drag before he responded.

“No ya don't.” He laughed, glancing over to Jack who'd pushed himself up as well once Brock spoke. 

“Yes I do,” He argued, looking more irritated than anything else. “I know I do.”

“But you don't, Jack.” Brock declared, looking at him incredulously. Another laugh left him at just how ridiculous the conversation felt. “You're way too young to know what love is.”

But Jack didn't seem to find it funny at all, instead choosing to pull himself out of bed and pull his sweatpants back up over his hips. Brock had bought a few more pairs since Jack had been coming over regularly, stashed a few more hoodies, hell, Brock had even put a toothbrush in the bathroom for him. But that wasn't  _ love  _ he was just… being considerate. 

“Oh, come on, Jackie. Don't be that way, it's just the truth.” Brock sighed, standing to pull his boxers back on. Jack's movements didn't stop at Brock's words, he continued to get dressed until he was fully clothed and headed out the bedroom door. Brock sighed and forced himself out of bed. Pulling his own pajama pants on, deciding be would  _ not  _ be having this conversation mostly naked, he followed. Before he caught up, Jack had tugged his shoes back on and was already headed out, forcing Brock to grab his arm. He really didn't want to have the argument— because there was no doubt in his mind that this would turn into one— outside at twelve thirty in the morning for all the neighbors to hear but it couldn't wait. 

“Jack, don't get mad at me for this. I dunno what you think you're feelin’ but it ain't love. I'm sorry, it's just not.” He tried explaining but it only got him an expression of hurt from Jack that, although Brock thought he was ready for, tore a hole in his chest. He couldn't have prepared for that, for those beautiful green eyes to hold such contempt for him. 

“I know what I'm feeling. I'm not a child, Brock, I'm not stupid. I love you, okay? You might not love me too but I know what I feel.” There was an unfamiliar hesitance in Jack's voice, as if he was just finding this out himself and he was scared. It made Brock want to gather him up and tell him everything was alright, to settle down. But he couldn't because that would just cement the feelings he already had and Brock didn't want to risk making things worse in the long run. 

“It's just  _ puppy love, _ Jack! It ain't nothin’, it can't be.” The exhaustion in his voice was clear by then, almost matching the tiredness in the rest of his body. 

“Why can't it?” There it was again, that hurt. Traveling from Jack's gaze and seeping into his voice in a way that made the air around them feel spoiled and rotten. But the pain it caused him combined with his own fatigue just made Brock angry. 

“Why can't it?” He parroted with a scoff. “Maybe because I'm fourteen years older than you. That's a good start, huh? Maybe because I'm your superior officer and we could get in a lot, and trust me when I say  _ a lot _ , of shit if this little fling gets in the way of work.” 

Jack physically recoiled at his words and the unexpected movement tugged Brock further out the door. He hardly noticed, staring at the disbelief that had fallen over Jack's features. If he didn't know any better, Brock would've sworn he heard Jack's heart shatter right then and there. 

“Fling?” He echoed and Brock sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand as Jack took the opportunity to pull his arm free. Helpless to stop him, Brock stood in the doorway and watched as Jack escaped into that little black racing Porsche that had inadvertently brought them together and was now helping tear them apart. 

“I didn't mean it like that.” Brock sighed to himself once the Porsche’s tail lights disappeared around the corner and he forced himself back inside. Jack or no Jack, he needed to get some sleep. They had a three day mission starting tomorrow and the last thing he needed was to be exhausted for it. He should take the chance to fall asleep in a stable temperature and a soft bed.

That’s what he should've done. But he couldn't. Not after an argument like that, one that left him feeling empty and wrong. One that tore open the tentatively mended loneliness that reared its ugly head now that Jack wasn't there to fill the space. 

Needless to say, he was exhausted going into work. He didn't want to be there, didn't want to see Jack again. When they did meet in the briefing, Jack's demeanor was something completely foreign from what he was used to. Cold, shut off, and unapproachable. But they continued onward. The mission went pretty well, considering. Everything went according to plan, no one had gotten hurt on the first day, and they were ahead of schedule by the time they started setting up at the safehouse. 

This one wasn't as bad as others. A little dingy, but thankfully it wasn't down right nasty. There was a working heating system to keep them from freezing their asses off and a few of the beds had frames even if the mattresses were lumpy as all get out. As the rookie, Jack took first watch. Just like he had on all of the other overnight missions they'd been on in the months since Jack had been chosen for the team. Brock let him, passing out pretty quickly after such a work intensive day that was made especially more difficult because of the fallout he had to deal with the night prior. The next morning came with more work for them, this time involving actually having to head out into the field which had once again gone relatively smoothly. They had a few bumps in the road both figuratively and literally, the truck engine started acting up which had forced them to pull over to get it fixed up, but other than that all was well.

The entire mission was a general success, Brock should've been happy. All he had to do was file a mission report since no one got hurt and nothing was damaged. No extra paperwork, praise from Pierce, and the guys were all going out drinking. All except Rollins of course. 

He was on the phone and headed out the door when Barkley suggested it. Lomack was the one who'd pointed out his absence and Brock was the one who decided to extend the olive branch. Jogging to catch up, finding Jack just as he'd hung up his phone, Brock stopped him with the call of his name. 

“Hey, Jackie, the guys wanna go out tonight. You comin’?” he asked casually, trying to ignore the guilt that climbed up through the back of his throat, prompting an apology that he actively held back. Glancing between Brock and the phone in his hand, Jack sighed and shook his head. The denial shouldn't have weighed as heavily on Brock as it did but there he was, feeling that empty loneliness nag at his chest again. So close. Jack was so fucking close and yet, Brock couldn't do anything. Couldn't touch him, couldn't hold him, couldn't assure him that he hadn't done anything wrong and that Brock was just the monumental fuck-up of the century that aught to come with a warning sign and hazard lights. 

“Not tonight. Something came up.” He muttered, slipping through the door without another word. Briefly, Brock wondered if he'd gotten himself another date. It didn't sit right with him, not only because he most definitely didn't see Jack as the kind of person who would hop from dick to dick at a moments notice, but because he wanted Jack to himself. Brock wanted to be the one to elicit those pleading cries from Jack when he moved just right. Brock wanted to feel that little twitch on the left side of Jack's hips that danced under his hands when Jack came. But it was more than that, wasn't it? He wanted to watch movies with him again, card his hand through that soft, honey brown hair again, watch as those green eyes grew heavy and sleepy under his touch. Mostly, Brock was coming to terms with the fact that he missed having Jack by his side. 

So, he'd confronted him about it. He confronted him about it in the most utterly stupid and obnoxious and undeniably  _ Brock Rumlow  _ way to do so.

At three in the morning, Jack met him in the parking lot of the S.H.I.E.L.D building, hair still tostled from his sleep. He glanced around the parking lot with a disoriented gaze before his eyes landed on Brock. 

“Wheresa guys?” He mumbled rubbing the sleep from one of his eyes before glancing up to Brock again. “You said we hadda mission.” 

“I lied.” Brock shrugged. Sure, calling Jack in the middle of the night to meet with him under the guise of a fake emergency mission probably wasn't his most well thought out plan but did it really matter by that point? He knew he wouldn't have been able to get Jack to meet him otherwise and he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep until they started talking again. 

The look of annoyance that fell over Jack's suddenly sobered face had Brock holding in a chuckle. Even pissed off he was just so damn cute. 

“You called me all the way out here, at three in the morning, for  _ what _ exactly?” He asked, leaning against his car and sighing. 

“You rushed out so fast earlier,” Brock said plainly, scratching at the back of his neck to expend some of the nervous energy that had taken up residence in his bones. “Never got ‘t ask who you were talkin’ to on the phone.” 

There was another short silence before Jack snorted, rolling his eyes at the comment before speaking again. 

“Does it matter?” He asked, shaking his head as he turned and opened the door to his car again. Brock erased the few steps between them, placing a soft hand over Jack's to still him. 

“Jack, wait.” He sighed, backing up a little as he ran a hand through his hair. “I feel like I messed up and I'm sorry.”

No response. A frustrated growl left him and he couldn't help but fix Jack with a glare that screamed  _ ‘help me out a little, here.’ _ But Jack just gave him an expectant look, crossing his arms and shifting his weight to the left side, waiting for Brock to continue 

“I don't like going to bed without you there. I can't sleep knowing you're mad at me.” He admitted with an agitated huff. “My house feels empty. But it's not just that ‘cuz everything feels empty. Before I met you I didn't have anythin’ to actually care about. Got the dog, sure, but s’ not the same. You made my days better, made me excited to get outta bed.”

The admittance sat so bitterly in the back of his throat that it made him gag and he couldn't help it when he gathered enough courage to place his hand over the side of Jack's neck when he spoke again. 

“I miss you.”

Silence. Ugly, awful silence filled the air when all Brock wanted was to hear Jack's voice again. Even if it was to yell at him, even if it was some condescending quip, anything would've been better. But the silence was heavy, imposing, and suffocating. He was almost ready to retreat back to his car and run away from it all when Jack leaned into his touch. 

“I missed you too.” He finally admitted. And just like the first night they'd gotten together, Brock pulled Jack down into a kiss. Soft, sickeningly sweet, and to the point. It was over as quickly as it started and Brock grinned. That same grin he always had when he got what he wanted. 

With the flick of his head and the quiet call of  _ c’mon,  _ Jack was climbing into the Camaro and Brock couldn't keep himself from smiling stupidly big. Jack just had that kind of effect on him and it was growing increasingly more difficult for Brock to see that as such a bad thing. 

“Who were you on the phone with, anyways?” He pestered and Jack chuckled, the sound a welcomed melody. 

“You remember how I said I always wanted a dog?” He asked and Brock nodded, glancing to Jack who had that look on his face of someone who'd done something stupidly impulsive. “Well, I got one. She's from a shelter, they called me today to let me know I could go pick her up.” 

A laugh left Brock because of course that was who Jack had been talking to. Because of course he was overly paranoid and imagining that Jack would've somehow gotten a hook-up between the few hours of their argument and the three day mission they'd had almost immediately afterward. Sighing quietly, he shook his head at his own ridiculous thought process before glancing to Jack with a soft smile, placing his hand over Jack's thigh in a mirror of the way he'd done so many months before. 

“Hey, Jack?” He asked catching the questioning look in those gorgeous green eyes. For so long, Brock pushed people away. One night stands and broken hearts. The situation he had with Jack hadn’t been his first but something deep in Brock's mind wanted it to be the last. “I love you, too.”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr Plug](https://c-aribeau.tumblr.com/)  
Note: This fic is unbeta-ed, I promise to fix the mistakes I find
> 
> More self indulgent nonsense because I have no self control ahh,, I hope it was an okay read, I haven’t written any smut in a while


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